


all my emotions feel like explosions when you are around

by coffeebiscuits



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista Bucky Barnes, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rated T for language, Steve is an art student, listen i LOVE confident bucky & flustered steve, oh well, this fandom is kind of dead at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebiscuits/pseuds/coffeebiscuits
Summary: When Steve steps into The Winter Soldier café at 3 AM, he doesn’t expect to see the prettiest man he’s ever laid eyes on and develop a dumb crush on him.But then again, life is full of surprises.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 27
Kudos: 167





	all my emotions feel like explosions when you are around

**Author's Note:**

> so. i know the mcu fandom is basically dead but i am PRAYING that there are a couple people out there who are still into stucky (especially after steve’s ending in endgame. which. we will not talk about). so if u liked this please share that would be!! very cool 
> 
> here is just a silly short fic! my writing gradually got worse as this went on i’m So Sorry hnnnfhdhjd
> 
> i am SO weak for bucky being all suave and cool and confident and steve falling over himself and being a complete hot mess. what can i say. bucky is just That Pretty (i am SO excited for his show with sam they are really gonna dominate the screen huh). 
> 
> enjoy!

When Steve first steps into The Winter Soldier café, it’s late. 

_ Really _ late. 

3:05 AM, to be precise. Steve is so tired his vision swims, but he still has one more drawing to do and he is free. 

His coffee machine broke yesterday and he hasn’t fixed it yet (he’s an art student, okay, he doesn’t have nearly enough money to buy another one) so in a caffeine withdrawal induced panic, he looked up his nearest coffee shop and found one only a 10 minute walk away. 

Years ago as a teenager, he would be terrified of walking anywhere at nighttime by himself, what with his skinny body and asthma, but after a surprising wave of puberty, working out, and outgrowing some health problems and learning to deal with others, he now stands 6 feet and 2 inches tall and 220 pounds and he can easily defend himself in a fight. 

His instincts still tell him to hurry up, though- maybe it’s a lasting effect from teenage years or just the fact that it’s cold out- so he quickly jogs to the coffee shop, surprised by its warm interior and its chalkboard menu and its display of pastries. 

Opening the door, there’s a little jingle from a bell suspended above, and he notices immediately that Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” is playing, despite it only being early November. The coffee shop is empty, but it is still warm and bright and Steve is happy he brought his backpack and art supplies with him because this is a much better environment to work in than his apartment with only tea to drink. 

There’s a man behind the counter, his back facing Steve, quietly singing along to the music, combat boots propped up on a stool next to him, doodling on a coffee cup with Sharpie. Steve steps up to him and barely opens his mouth before the man turns, and Steve  _ snaps  _ his mouth closed, feeling his face flush already. 

Because the man behind the counter is  _ stunning.  _

He has brown, medium length hair that is tied up in a loose ponytail, half of it falling out and framing his face. His face with a 5’ o clock shadow splits into a wide grin when he sees Steve, and Steve can see his sharp cheekbones and his muscles through his long-sleeved shirt and just- Steve is very,  _ very  _ much bisexual, okay?

Steve distinctively notices that the barista’s mouth is moving, and once he finishes, Steve has heard absolutely nothing that came out of his mouth. 

Somehow turning even redder, he squeaks out a quick “what?” 

God, he feels like a middle schooler again. Clumsy and tripping over his words. It’s so embarrassing that he briefly considers escaping the coffee shop. There’s a Starbucks only a half hour walk away. 

The man laughs, and when he does so, his eyes crinkle and there’s a quick flash of dimples and, okay, Steve is already  _ so  _ far gone. 

“I asked,” he begins, enunciating with his hands- Steve notices his left hand is made out of  _ metal _ , which throws him off, but he doesn’t ask though he almost wants to see how it works, how his prosthetic is held together- “Why you’re out and about at 3 fucking AM.”

Steve shrugs with his right shoulder, digging his nails into his backpack straps. “I need to finish up work for a class. My coffee machine broke. I panicked.” 

The barista offers his flesh hand. “Respect,” he says. “Name’s Bucky.” 

Steve shakes it, giving him a smile of his own. “Steve.” 

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” Bucky says, flashing him that million-dollar smile and turning Steve’s knees to jelly for like, the  _ hundredth  _ time since he walked in this goddamn coffee shop, “What can I get you?”

Steve’s ears turn pink from the embarrassment that is likely to happen. 

“Uh, can I get a medium white chocolate iced coffee with two pumps hazelnut syrup, two pumps vanilla, and one pump cinnamon?” 

Bucky stares at him. “I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?” 

“A medium white chocolate iced-”

“No, I heard what you said,” he interrupts. “I’m just so confused. And disgusted. I’m supposed to be enthusiastic about you getting our coffee, but I am seriously concerned here, Steve. This is diabetes in a fucking cup.” 

“I can take it.” Steve grins at him. “I’ve been drinking this for three years.” 

Bucky’s mouth falls open. 

“But… you’re so  _ fit _ ,” Bucky whispers, eyes shamelessly roving over Steve’s shirt, and Steve wants to  _ die.  _

He wants to say “you’re not too bad yourself” but there is no way he is smooth enough to pull that off. Tony was right in saying that he’s a terrible flirt. That shithead. 

“Just make it, Bucky. I think I’ll cry if I don’t get caffeine in my system soon.” 

“Whatever you say, captain. Just know that if you fall into a sugar coma, I am  _ not  _ calling the police.” 

Steve can’t help but smile as Bucky turns around, grabbing a plastic cup, and begins to fill it with his sugary coffee and syrups. And if the view of Bucky from behind is great, well- who can blame Steve for looking?

“So,” Bucky begins as he works, “you said you came here for a class. Where do you go to college?” 

“Pratt Institute. Add some whipped cream while you’re at it.” 

Bucky wrinkles his nose but obliges, adding a healthy dose of fluffy cream. He pushes the cup towards Steve. 

“I actually modeled at Pratt once,” Bucky muses. “Wanted to make some extra cash. It was fun, got to see all the art happening. That’ll be three fifty.” 

Steve gets out his wallet and tries not to fumble as he gets out the bills, his mind  _ filled  _ with thoughts of Bucky modeling with all that muscle and skin being revealed- 

He slaps the money on the counter a little harder than he should’ve, turning red as Bucky furrows his eyebrows at him. He puts his mouth around the straw of his coffee and sucks, desperately needing something to do. 

The sugar and caffeine goes straight to his brain, and he breathes a sigh of relief, already feeling better. 

What Steve really needs to do is get the hell out of there before he somehow embarrasses himself further, but he’s glued to the spot and Bucky is  _ staring  _ at him so he just looks down at his battered Converse and keeps drinking his teeth-rotting coffee. 

Bucky breaks the silence. “So, like, is that actually  _ good  _ or-”

“You can try, if you want,” Steve interrupts, and then flushes when he realizes what he said. But it’s too late to back out now, so he offers his coffee, focusing on the bead of water sliding down the plastic cup instead of Bucky’s face, which is probably disgusted. Steve probably fucked everything up. 

Before he can somehow find a way to take it back, the cup is taken from his hand and Steve flits his up to Bucky, and the barista’s ears are surprisingly  _ pink _ , and then Bucky sucks on the straw and there should be absolutely nothing lewd about it but it still makes Steve blush. 

He needs to stop blushing so much. It’s humiliating. 

Steve takes the cup again and he notices that the straw is a little bit wet as he sips it again and of course he just turns redder. He doesn’t know whether to laugh at himself or just cry. Maybe a little bit of both. 

“What do you think of it?” Steve asks to break the awkward silence. 

Bucky purses his lips and his eyebrows furrow. Steve wants to smooth the little wrinkle that appears so badly that he feels himself leaning forward and his hand beginning to rise to do so, before stepping back.

_ Have some self-control, Rogers,  _ he mentally screams at himself.  _ You’re tough. You’re an ass kicker. You are a 27 year old man with a crush. _

“It’s… actually not as bad as I thought,” Bucky says thoughtfully. “Two more and I’ll probably have to go to the dentist, though.” 

Steve chuckles and Bucky gives him a humored smile in return. 

The silence returns, falling heavily over them and Steve feels almost crushed by it. Struggling with words to say, he lamely blurts out: “Well, I’m, uh. I’m gonna sit down.” At this he vaguely flaps his hand to the tables behind him and then reaches up to self-consciously scratch his hair. “Gotta do one more assignment for class today.” 

Bucky leans over the counter with heightened interest, his biceps shifting (which- Steve was totally  _ not _ looking, okay? They were just so obviously there). “What’s the assignment?” he asks. 

“It’s just a, uh, realism portrait. Realism is one of my specialties so I should be out of your hair soon.”

“Oh! That’s really cool. I never could draw for shit.” Bucky grins at this, wide and toothy, and Steve thinks that he might be the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. 

God, if Tony were here, he’d never let him live this down. 

“Ah,” Steve laughs nervously, “I’m sure you’re fine.” 

“No, Steve. I know you’re trying to be nice, but trust me when I say that I could barely even draw stick figures.” 

Steve takes another sip of his coffee and purses his lips, considering what he wants to ask. 

_ Might as well go for it,  _ his brain offers.  _ He probably already thinks you’re a weirdo, it can’t hurt.  _

He decides to take the plunge. 

“So, hey, Bucky,” he begins. “I actually need someone to use as a reference for my… uh…” At this his throat closes up, and so he clears it, a little too loudly, making Bucky’s eyebrow raise. “I was wondering if you wanted to help me out.” 

A spark of understanding lights in the other man’s eyes, and he smiles. “Oh! Yeah, I’d love to do that.” 

He comes out from behind the counter, shoving his hands in his pockets almost shyly. “So how do you want me?” 

“Maybe just… take your hair out of the ponytail?” 

Bucky obediently pulls his hair tie away, making his hair fall in thick waves to his shoulders and oh. Okay. 

Call it cliché, but the movement sends a faint wave of the scent of Bucky’s shampoo towards Steve, and the latter gulps audibly. 

He could do this, right? He could draw an extremely gorgeous man without completely fucking this up. 

Totally. 

Steve gets out his charcoals, setting up shop in one of the tables in the café. Bucky follows and sits himself down across from Steve. 

“Don’t make me look too ugly, okay?” Bucky says, laughing. 

“That,” Steve mumbles, putting his paper in front of him, “would be impossible.” 

He’s too distracted to notice the way Bucky shyly smiles at him, instead focusing on beginning to draw the lines of Bucky’s face. 

Steve honestly doesn’t know how much time he spends drawing Bucky. All he knows is that his hand is flying over the paper as he marks in Bucky’s strong jaw, rough stubble, the thick tumble of his dark hair. 

When he’s done, as he lifts it up and sees Bucky’s mischievous eyes looking back at him, he thinks it might be his best work yet. 

He must be spending a little too long staring at the drawing, because Bucky clears his throat and Steve looks up to see the man’s anticipating face. 

“Well?” Bucky asks. “Can I see it?” 

Steve reluctantly hands it over, not because he’s ashamed of the work, but because he’s scared it’s a little too raw. That Bucky will see somehow, through the way he’s drawn him, Steve’s (clearly obvious by now) dumb crush and emotions. 

But Bucky doesn’t say anything about it, instead letting out a low whistle. “Damn. This- this is amazing, Steve. Can I take a picture?”

Steve looks away, not being able to bear the clear joy on Bucky’s face. He’s embarrassed. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Bucky pulls out his phone and a camera-shutter noise plays in the room, the only sound other than shitty Christmas music quietly playing in the background. 

“So,” Bucky says as soon as his phone is back in his pocket, “how much longer do I have to pretend?” 

Steve’s head  _ snaps  _ up, lightning-fast, anxiety already settling in his gut. 

“What do you mean?” he asks warily, looking down at his charcoal-smudged fingers. 

Bucky smirks and leans over, getting into Steve’s personal space. Steve is overwhelmed with the smell of mint and coffee and the way that Bucky’s eyelashes flutter when he blinks. 

“I mean,” Bucky says, drawing out the syllable of every word. “I mean, how much longer do I have to pretend that you haven’t been checking me out this whole time?” 

Steve flounders, his anxiety only growing and his face growing uncomfortably warm. “I-” he begins, but Bucky cuts him off. 

“Don’t worry, Steve. Maybe you can explain yourself at dinner? Tonight?” 

Bucky’s hands briefly ghost over Steve’s, which increases the blond man’s heart rate probably  _ way  _ more than it should, and then he sits back and Steve immediately misses his presence. 

His mouth finally catches up to his brain and Steve says, “I can’t do it tonight, I have work.” 

A brief flash of disappointment crosses Bucky’s face, but then it’s gone as his mouth quirks up and says: “Tomorrow then?” 

Steve finds himself smiling back. “Tomorrow,” he responds, and it feels like a promise. 

Ten minutes later, Steve is about to leave the café with Bucky’s number in his phone and a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. He pushes the door open, and a blast of cold air hits his face. It’s refreshing, and Steve sighs at the sky. 

“Oh, and Steve?” he hears right behind him. 

Steve whirls to see Bucky, his hair back in a ponytail, wiping down the counter with a rag. 

“Yeah?” Steve says. 

Bucky grins. Steve really could get used to that expression. 

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered.” 

And of course, Steve immediately reddens at this, stepping outside and letting the door close behind him. 

He lets himself smile a bit before turning to the sidewalk and beginning to go back to his apartment. 

It’s 4:13 AM, and if Steve has way too much of a spring in his step and a happy expression than is normal, he’ll blame it on the coffee. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> and that is it folks, maybe someday i’ll actually write something other than a oneshot
> 
> who am i kidding? i will absolutely not even though i have no excuse since we’re all in quarantine 
> 
> speaking of quarantine! hope you enjoyed and please stay safe and wash your hands! pass the time at home by learning a new skill, doing some exercise, obsessively binging b99 like i’ve been doing, or stop procrastinating on the schoolwork you definitely have.


End file.
